


Of All the Bookshelves in All the World, You Were Sitting On Mine

by theemdash



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Silly, Wizard Rock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-06
Updated: 2008-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10065866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash/pseuds/theemdash
Summary: Pete has an unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when momebie tells me that Pete Wentz likes Harry Potter and I leap to the conclusion that he should write Wizard Rock songs.  
> Special thanks to momebie for a quick beta.

Patrick can't stumble out of the door fast enough. "What the hell is this?" Pete's new _lyrics_ —if you can call them that—read suspiciously like Pete had just finished re-reading _Harry Potter_.

Pete lowers his book, blinking over the edge of its pages. "What?"

Patrick rustles the sheets at Pete, forcing them to speak for him. Unfortunately the pages know no English and merely say, "Rustle, rustle, crinkle," which Patrick hardly understands and he doubts Pete will at all.

"My lyrics?" Pete sits up, putting his feet on the floor and setting aside the book. "You like them?"

Patrick's head tilts slightly and his brain sloshes a bit. He's used to Pete being . . . Pete, but this? This?

Patrick reads from the top page. "If I were a wizard boy, I'd give you a wizard boner. I'm at least as famous as your precious Harry Potter."

Pete closes his eyes, nodding his head, like he's really _listening_ to the lyrics, hearing a bass line and a melody and a goddamn Fall Out Boy song! "I so have a thing for Ginny Weasley," he says when he opens his eyes.

"Ginny Weasley?!"

"Oh, yeah, spitfire, all the way." Pete jumps up and starts shuffling through the papers in Patrick's hands. "Did you get to 'The Statute of Secrecy Doesn't Have to be Like the Fortress of Solitude'? That one, that one, what?" He's finally looking at Patrick, probably taking in the flared nostrils and red face and putting it together that yes, Patrick did read that one and. . . . "Did you eat that leftover Chinese? I think it was on the counter all night. You look all. . . ." Pete lurches forward and makes regurgitation-face.

"What. Is. This?" Patrick finally grinds out.

Pete genuinely looks confused. "New lyrics. I told you I was working on something."

"Who are these for?" Patrick shakes the pages again and they rustle in protest. "Harry and the Potters?"

"Don't be crazy," Pete says. "Harry and the Potters don't need _my_ help to come up with kick-ass songs."

Patrick is sure that he woke up in his own bed this morning and that when he came over here he didn't experience any loss of time or strange electrical sensations or anything that might otherwise explain how he wound up in this fucked-up parallel dimension where Pete Wentz is seriously giving him lyrics about Harry fucking Potter.

Pete carefully pries the pages from Patrick's fingers and puts a warm arm around his shoulder, rubbing small circles with his hand. "Are you sure you don't need to hurl?"

"AAHHH!" Patrick pushes against Pete—bodily knocking Pete back on to the couch and straddling him so he can't escape. "Stop. Being. Such. A. Fan. Boy!" He slaps at Pete with every word. His slaps are enraged and manly, and Pete is crying in terror, not laughing hysterically at the attack.

"Haven't you heard of Wizard Rock?" Pete gasps between laughs.

Patrick stops slapping. "What-ard Rock?"

"Wizard Rock." Pete shifts and wiggles his hips under Patrick's legs, eyes flicking over their positions. "Always knew you'd want to top."

Patrick gets up slowly, rubbing his temples, trying to school away yet another Pete-Wentz-Ache. "Rock songs about Harry Potter?" he finally guesses.

"Oh, yeah." Pete jumps up, standing on the couch. "They don't just rock, they _wrock_!"

Patrick blinks. "You just said the same thing twice."

"No," Pete says. "I said it with a 'w'. _W_ rock!"

Patrick wants to cry, but is pretty sure he'll lose the argument if he reveals a weakness. Pete Wentzes attack when Patricks's guards are down.

"Why did you give me—" Patrick closes his eyes and sighs deeply. "— _Harry Potter_ lyrics?"

Holding out his hands, looking like it should be plainly obvious, Pete says, "So we can be the best wrock band in the world!"

"Last I checked, we're Fall Out Boy. A _real_ band."

Pete slips, bouncing on the couch when his ass lands. "Are you implying that wrockers are not real bands?"

"No." Patrick holds up his hands, totally not meaning to stomp on indie roots. "Just we, we're—uh, there's a certain _standard_ to which we're held, um, an expectation. . . ."

Pete arches both eyebrows. "Standard?"

He doesn't have to say anything else—the damn bastard—one sarcastic word, _two_ arched eyebrows, and Pete's won because Patrick stuttered. Patrick stuttered and Pete pounced because Pete Wentz is a horrible, dishonorable, Harry Potter nerd.

Patrick sighs and picks up the papers that have fallen on the floor, carefully stacking them together.

"So, what do you think about the general rock chord progression in minor to open your," Patrick hesitates, not wanting to say it because saying it will not only be admitting defeat, it will be showing acceptance and the one thing Pete does not need is acceptance. "Song," he says instead.

Pete grins, the shit-eating grin of crazy-obsessed bastards, and rocks forward on his toes. "I think that sounds perfect."

Patrick rolls his eyes when he gets back to GarageBand, but six months later Patrick actually smiles when he's singing at a library, "Your magic doesn't freak me out (even though your wand's longer than mine)."


End file.
